


Flawed

by francoeurs



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brienne POV, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Misunderstandings, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-War, Post-season 7, Romance, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Sort Of, they don’t know what the hell they’re doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14263809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/francoeurs/pseuds/francoeurs
Summary: He brusquely pulled his breeches up. “Why do you always do that?”“Do what?”“Look away from me.”





	Flawed

Brienne knew it was only a matter of time.

He’d realise he didn’t want her. Perhaps he would leave her. Perhaps not. She believed he genuinely cared for her, at least.

But _this_ would end, she was sure of it.

Gasping for air, Brienne closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the tree. She slid her palms over the rough bark and dug her short nails into it, needing something to ground her.

Jaime held her tighter and playfully tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. He was half-supporting her weight, as her legs were quivering like a newborn fawn's. His hand was still between her thighs, caressing her sensitive flesh.

She moaned and pulled on his wrist before her knees could buckle under her.

Jaime loosened his hold on her waist and straightened up, smiling sweetly as he brought his hand to his mouth. He sucked his fingers clean, his eyes never leaving her face. Brienne stared in fascination, feeling equal parts embarrassment and arousal.

The sly tilt of his lips told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

He rocked his hips gently against hers, and Brienne ripped her gaze away from his mouth to look down. She couldn’t see him clearly in the dim, rosy light from the setting sun, but she could feel him, hot and heavy against her.

She slipped her hand between their bodies. Her hesitant fingers brushed his neglected cock once, twice, then curled around it. His hips jerked, and she tightened her hold on him, moving her hand in slow and firm strokes.

Jaime dropped his head forwards with a shuddering breath.

“I won’t last long,” he said in a rush, puffing warm air on her cheek. Brienne thought she heard some measure of embarrassment in his voice. “I’m already close,” he admitted before claiming her mouth in a kiss.

She returned it happily, if a little clumsily, and tried to match his pace when he started to fuck her fist in earnest.

Jaime abruptly broke the kiss to look at her. For a brief moment, Brienne couldn't shift her gaze away from him. He was beautiful like this, with his brows knitted in concentration, his lips parted, and a pink flush spreading in his cheeks.

His breathing grew fast and shallow. They’d only done this six times, but inexperienced as she still was, Brienne had become familiar enough with his body to know and _feel_ he was about to come.

Reluctantly, she hid her face in his neck—out of his sight—and stroked him faster, wanting to make this good for him.

Jaime made a noise of protest and tried to pull back from her without slowing his thrusts. “Look at me.”

Brienne pretended not to hear him. Her nails scraped his scalp while she dropped kisses along his throat. She nipped and licked at the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

He shivered. “Look at me,” he repeated through a moan. There was a desperate edge to his voice now.

Her thumb brushed the small, wet slit at the tip of his cock; she knew he responded well to that.

Jaime hissed through his teeth. He leaned his head against hers with a stifled groan and dug his fingers into her hip. A few erratic thrusts later, he spilled himself on her hand.

A final moan slipped from his throat, soft and faint.

He slumped against her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, trembling. Feeling relaxed and content, Brienne slid one hand between his shoulder blades and pulled him closer to her. She stroked his hair, his shoulders, the curve of his lower back—whatever she could reach. Her other hand was still trapped between their bodies, holding his softening cock.

He shifted slightly in her arms. Brienne blew out a resigned breath and immediately let go of him, all of him, assuming he’d come to his senses and wanted to get away. She awkwardly held her arms out at her sides and waited for him to move.

Jaime made a small noise and tightened his arms around her. “What are you doing? Don’t let go,” he grumbled against her neck.

After a moment's pause, she wrapped herself around him again and marvelled at how she’d gone from sparring with him to holding him in her arms, half undressed and with his seed cooling between them.

That seemed to happen a lot lately.

After a while, Jaime flattened his hand against the tree and pushed himself away from her.

He brusquely pulled his breeches up. “Why do you always do that?”

Brienne blinked and put her own clothing to rights. “Do what?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer. She walked to her mare and dug a cloth out of the saddlebag. She wiped her hand meticulously and cast a nervous glance at Jaime.

“Look away from me,” he all but snapped. He stalked to his horse. “Does it make it easier to imagine someone else?” he asked, spitefulness dripping from his tongue like poisoned honey. “Renly? Or that dead wildling who panted after you like a dog in rut, perhaps?”

Brienne almost dropped the cloth. She recoiled from his words as if struck.

“Jaime,” she breathed.

He froze, then looked at her over his shoulder. He had the good grace to look a little contrite.

He sighed and stroked his horse's neck before climbing into the saddle.

“Where to?” he asked. He looked straight ahead, his face an emotionless mask framed by dishevelled hair.

They’d been wandering aimlessly for almost three moons. The long night was over, and they did not know what to do with themselves, although neither had admitted as much to the other. The war had been merciless, and Jaime had no place to call his own, no enemies to fight, no one to serve—no real ties left to anyone. Neither did Brienne.

Except for one.

But she was not ready to return home. A part of her was afraid she would be going back alone. The mere thought of it hurt her beyond measure.

She shoved the soiled cloth back into the saddlebag and climbed on her mare.

“We could ride until we reach the next village,” she suggested quietly. “I’m tired of sleeping on the ground.”

“As you wish,” he said in a monotone. He prodded his horse forwards.

Brienne hesitated, then followed him silently.

 

—

 

Days passed. They didn’t speak of it after that evening, but his accusation still lingered between them like a dark cloud.

It took almost an entire week for them to touch again.

It was a windy night. The sound of it hitting their small tent was almost enough to drown out their mingled, panting breaths and muffled moans; almost enough to drown out the pounding of Brienne’s heartbeat in her own ears.

They’d only been fully nude with each other once before tonight. Brienne remembered sitting in that bath and watching him undress. She remembered feeling unwelcome heat stir in her belly. She remembered hating herself and him for it.

Now, Jaime was trailing kisses up her thighs, her belly, her chest. Still shaking from her release, she was very aware of his cock pressed against her sex, hard and ready and setting her body alight once more.

She couldn’t stifle the whine that clawed its way into the air when she rolled her hips, desperate for him to fill up the ache between her thighs. Jaime licked over one nipple, teasing the small bud before sucking it into his mouth.

Brienne made an inarticulate noise and pushed him off of her without warning. She rolled to one side so that her back was to him.

She felt him go unnaturally still. Seconds later, his hand caressed her back and stopped at her waist.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked apprehensively from behind her.

Brienne shivered when his breath tickled her ear.

“No.” She leaned back against him, closing her eyes when his cock slid along the cleft of her arse. She raised her knee to give him better access to where she needed him. “Go on. I’m ready. I want this,” she assured him.

Jaime pressed his forehead to the nape of her neck and didn’t say anything.

A sense of unease started to build in the pit of her stomach. The long silence felt vaguely accusatory. She held herself still and clutched the blanket in her fist, waiting.

“It’s already dark in here,” Jaime said at last, and the ice in his voice made her heart drop like a stone. “But gods forbid you catch even a _glimpse_ of my face.”

Not daring to look over her shoulder, Brienne stared at the tent wall with unblinking eyes and tentatively covered his hand with hers. “I don’t—”

Jaime cut her off with a disgusted sigh and snatched his hand out of her reach. He rolled onto his back and put some distance between them.

Brienne rolled over and tugged the blanket up to her chest, watching him warily. His movements were stiff and angry as he covered himself to the waist and raked his hand through his hair.

He clenched his jaw and glared at the top of the tent. “I’m not interested in a cold and distant lover.”

She flinched. “ _Cold?_ ”

He rubbed his face and let out a sharp, short bark of laughter before continuing as if she hadn't said a word. “The sad thing is that I’ll stay anyway. It’s what I do.”

“You think I... you think this is about _you_?” she asked incredulously.

He gave her a bland look. “I don’t. That’s the problem.” He did not sound hurt or angry anymore. Resigned, maybe.

 _Enough_. Brienne pushed herself up on her elbow and scowled down at him. “It’s about _me_. _I_ am the problem.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “I’m doing this _for you_.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes and rubbed his breastbone. “For me?”

“Why would you want to look at this?” Her voice cracked when she gestured at her scarred face; the angry red scar tissue that covered her cheek. She had been ugly before. Now she looked grotesque. People used to snicker in disbelief or shoot her curious looks when they laid eyes on her for the first time; now they turned away in disgust.

For a few seconds, Jaime could only stare at her with a slack jaw, but his astonished expression rapidly morphed into an offended frown. “Don’t presume to know what I want!”

His tone still had a bit of bite to it, but Brienne saw some of the tension leave the tight muscles of his shoulders.

She flopped back down next to him, frustration and shame burning a hole in her gut. She bit down on her tongue and listened to the wind howling and blowing through the trees, wishing it could blow her far, far away from this conversation.

“You thought this would make me happy?” Jaime asked, finally breaking the oppressive silence. “Surely you weren't expecting me to be content with looking at the back of your head for the rest of our lives?” He stared at her with wide, horrified eyes. “I’d fuck whores whose names I don’t know, if all I wanted was a warm body.”

The very idea made her throat constrict. “I wasn’t...” _The rest of our...?_

He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. “We both have scars, Brienne.”

She flushed miserably. “But my face was far from lovely even before I acquired mine.”

“Does it matter?”

Brienne’s mind echoed with decades’ worth of cruel words, and she couldn’t stop quiet bitterness from creeping into her voice. “It does. You know it does.”

He was silent for a beat. “Years ago, I’m sure I would have agreed with you, but I’m older and a bit wiser now.” His mouth turned down in a slight grimace. “Mostly older. Old enough to know that beauty fades.”

That brought a lump to her throat, but she refused to let tears come. He didn’t understand. Of course not, how could he?

“There’s a difference between being old and being hideous,” she said, disappointed to hear her voice waver. She pressed her lips together to stop her chin from trembling.

“You’re not hideous,” he said flatly.

“Stop lying.”

He ran his thumb over her eyebrow. “Your eyes haven’t changed.”

She turned her head away. “ _Stop it_.”

He sighed and dropped his hand to her shoulder, palm up. “I wish you wouldn’t hide them from me. I’m rather fond of them.”

Brienne stared at the top of the tent for a few moments before forcing her gaze back to him. A question burned the tip of her tongue.

“Did you really believe _I_ did not want to look at _you_?” It made absolutely no sense to her, no matter how she turned it in her mind.

Jaime huffed and almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes. “As I said, we both have scars.”

His right arm was resting on his belly, curved almost protectively around his middle. Brienne wrapped her hand around his stump without hesitation.

“This doesn’t bother me,” she said fiercely, wanting, _needing_ him to know she meant it.

A look of veiled amusement crossed his face. He smiled and ran his fingers between her breasts. “I’m glad to hear that, but I was talking about a different sort of scar.” He lightly tapped his knuckles against her breastbone.

Brienne let out a breath, her heart aching dully at his words, despite how cavalier he sounded. She leaned forwards and pressed her lips against his, overcome with a rush of tenderness towards him.

He welcomed it, looping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. They both sighed at the sensation of skin on skin.

Brienne let him roll her onto her back so he could lie on top of her.

Jaime broke the kiss with a slow, smooth stroke of his hand up her ribs. He studied her face for several moments while his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.

“The scar isn’t attractive,” he said, bringing his hand up to touch her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But it tells a story.”

Brienne held her breath and waited for him to elaborate.

“I know the story, of course,” he said. “I was right there with you.” His lips brushed her cheek while his hand delved between her thighs. Brienne gasped—she was still slick from the pleasure his mouth and fingers had given her earlier.

“I watched you fight to protect people. Children. I watched you get hurt for them,” he went on. “I watched you fight the fever that followed. You won that battle too, and then you got up to fight some more, regardless of the pain.” His teeth grazed the angle of her jaw. “What sort of fool would I be if this scar stopped me from wanting you?”

Brienne swallowed and stroked the warm and smooth skin of his back. “And before that?” she asked, unable to resist. “I was not pretty, even then.”

He lifted his head. “No,” he agreed, and Brienne was grateful he didn't lie in a misguided attempt to soothe her with flattery. “But it didn’t stop me from wanting you.” His eyes suddenly lit with mischief. “The bath we shared in Harrenhal was a revelation in more ways than one.”

She gaped at him.

Jaime absently traced patterns on her inner thigh and went on with his reminiscing. “When we were in King’s Landing and I saw you in your new armour for the first time, I wondered how far I would have to push you for you to snap and pin me against the nearest wall.”

Brienne nearly choked when a startled, husky laugh burst from her throat.

There was a flicker of a smile on Jaime’s face before his expression grew serious. “And when you tried to give Oathkeeper back to me, my sore heart nearly split in two. That was the day I realised how easily you could crush me.” He released a breath and pressed a light kiss to her lips. “And I’m not talking about your fighting skills, _Lady Brienne_.”

That sobered her. Sorrow settled heavily on her chest as the meaning of his words sank in. 

“I would never willingly hurt you,” she said with a hint of reproach.

“I know.” His gaze softened. After a short pause, he said, “you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me. You know my past and, somehow, you don’t hold any of it against me.” He swallowed. “You don’t need to hide yourself. Ever. Not for anyone, but especially not for me.”

Touched and overwhelmed, Brienne grabbed the back of his head and kissed him soundly; half to shut him up, half because she’d never wanted anything more.

Jaime returned the kiss with enthusiasm, moaning into it. Emboldened, she rocked her hips and was pleased to feel him harden with renewed desire against her belly.

The kiss turned needy and desperate. Before long, Brienne was clutching his arms and urging him on as he slowly pushed himself inside her.

She took a deep, steadying breath.

There was pain, to be sure, but not as much as she’d come to expect. She wigged her hips experimentally and winced. It burned and stung, but it was nowhere near as terrible as some of the dreadful stories she had heard. She’d expected something to tear or even _snap_ inside her when she lost her maidenhead, but she’d felt nothing of the sort. All she could feel now was stinging pressure. Uncomfortable, but bearable.

Was this unusual, or had years of fighting simply hardened her? The pain was nothing compared to some of the things she’d had to endure in the last few years alone.

She looked up at Jaime. His eyes were half-closed, his brow creased. Brienne brushed his hair away from his face and tucked a few longer strands behind his ear.

He turned his head and kissed her palm.

Her face relaxed into a small smile. Yes, this was better than any pain she’d felt before.

But then an odd, blank look came over Jaime’s face as he stared at Brienne, and dread filled her chest.

She dug her fingers into his arm and glanced down briefly. Was there something wrong with her? Was she inadequate between her legs as well? Could the gods truly be so cruel?

As if sensing her troubled thoughts, Jaime blinked himself out of his reverie. His eyes cleared and focused on hers.

“I can hear you worrying,” Jaime murmured. He kissed the corner of her mouth and gave a few shallow, tentative thrusts. His breath audibly caught in his throat. “Everything’s fine. I was just thinking. This is new for me too.”

Brienne relaxed and wrapped her arms around his back.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She could tell by the look on his face that he was about to argue, so she rolled her hips, stealing his breath again. “Truly. I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

His only response was a quiet groan. He started moving with slow, lazy thrusts. Soon enough, his hips found a rhythm he seemed to like.

The uncomfortable burn gradually lessened to a dull ache. Lost in a daze, she watched him move above her, not quite believing what was happening.

Jaime stared back with a look like wonder on his face.

 _I love you_. The thought came unbidden into Brienne’s mind.

“ _Gods_.” Jaime had leaned down and pressed the word into her lips like a genuine prayer, punctuating it with a hard thrust. He gripped her thigh and pulled her closer to him as his thrusting grew faster and more insistent. “I love you too. Gods, I...” His voice trailed off into a broken moan.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Jaime lifted her hips and tilted them just so, just a small, subtle thing that made her gasp and arch up, trying to get closer, trying to get more. Brienne sank her short nails into his back and moaned into his mouth, her body no longer trying to keep him out.

She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, driving him deeper inside her with her heels. He hit that sensitive bud hidden among her folds with every thrust, and the hot, tingling pressure in her lower belly kept building until it became almost too much to bear, until she found herself moaning with every breath, desperate for—

She clung to Jaime and almost sobbed in relief when she tipped over the edge and came apart under him. She covered her mouth with her hand and let her head fall back as she groaned and clenched around his cock, arching helplessly into his thrusts.

Jaime slowed his pace and held her through it, crooning something in her ear. Brienne was too far gone to make sense of it.

Eventually, her pleasure ebbed and her mind cleared, and an idea struck her like an arrow.

Still trying to catch her breath, she put her hands on Jaime’s chest and pushed just hard enough to get his attention. “Stop.”

He drew in a ragged breath and faltered to a stop with a distressed frown.

"On your back," Brienne said, jerking her head to the side.

His frown turned into a wicked smile when understanding dawned. Brienne only winced slightly when he pulled out of her and hurried to comply.

She pushed herself up and knelt astride his hips, flushing when Jaime reached between them to place himself at her entrance. She lowered herself onto him, letting him guide her hips. It was easier to take him inside her, this time.

She slid her hands down his chest, allowing herself a moment to adjust to the intrusion and admire his body before she gripped his shoulders tightly.

Their eyes met.

_“I wondered how far I would have to push you for you to snap and pin me against the nearest wall.”_

With some shyness and uncertainty, she used her weight to pin him in place, then gave him a meaningful look

His eyes seemed darker than before. He grasped her hips and lifted his own.

“That’s good,” he said, his voice strained. He pressed his right arm against her thigh, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead.

Brienne moved her hips, clumsily at first, then with increasing confidence as Jaime whispered praises and words of encouragement.

She moved faster, slower, _harder_ , watching his reactions, every flicker of emotion that crossed his face.

She did not look away once.

His own gaze roamed over her, drinking in every detail. Her thick, muscular body, her unsightly face, her bare, imperfect skin—it was all there for him to see.

Doubt and anxiety rose in her again, and Brienne faltered, struggling to force the familiar and unwanted feelings down.

This was nothing new to Jaime, she tried to remind herself. He’d seen all of her _years_ ago; righteous, furious, and dripping with the bathwater they had shared. Surely, he couldn’t be disappointed if he already knew what to expect? After he’d already assured her he wanted her, all of her? After he’d already seen, touched, _tasted_ what little she had to offer?

Could he?

Her gaze wavered.

Jaime cupped the back of her head in his hand and tangled his fingers in her hair. Brienne held her breath.

“Stay with me,” he begged, barely above a whisper.

So she did.

His fingers tightened in her hair. His eyes did not close until the very last moment, when he shivered and found his release in her, arching his back and making a sound like he'd been punched.

Afterwards, Brienne collapsed on his chest and laid her head next to his while he struggled to catch his breath. She pressed her nose into his hair and listened to his breathing slow and soften.

His nose bumped hers when he turned his head.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stroking her hip.

“I’m good.”

“Just good?” He gave her a tired smile and shook his head. “I think we can do better than that next time.”

She had no response to that, but a blush of pleasure warmed her face.

Jaime cupped her jaw and gently turned her head, trailing lazy kisses from her ear to her lips.

“Are you ready to return to Tarth, or do you need more time?”

She leaned back in surprise.

He’d somehow managed to convince himself that she did not want him, that she did not want to _look_ at him, but he’d still sensed and understood her reluctance to go home?

Perhaps they really were both _foolish_ , flawed creatures. There was something oddly comforting about that.

They were together in this. They both had old wounds that still bled from time to time, but even some of the most stubborn wounds could heal, given time and care.

Brienne tipped her head back to accept his soft kisses to her throat.

“I’m ready,” she said. She closed her eyes and settled deeper into the rolled-up cloak they were using as a pillow.

That night, she dreamed of the future. A future that felt a little brighter, a little more attainable.

A future that was, indeed, the life Brienne wanted to live.


End file.
